


You Don't Have to Say I Love You

by Kihyunie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Boys In Love, Coffee date, Domestic Nomin, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kihyunie/pseuds/Kihyunie
Summary: They never needed the words anyway.





	You Don't Have to Say I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up this morning to jaemin and jeno drinking americanos together and prompty wrote this

The café is quiet when they enter, the jingle of the bell above the door breaking through the relative silence. Jaemin feels Jeno’s hand on the small of his back, gently guiding him into the room, just a gesture that says, ‘I’m right behind you.’

They never needed the words anyway.

It’s late morning, which means the bustling onslaught of people collecting coffee before work and kids grabbing a quick snack before class is over, leaving only those who can afford slow mornings: older people reading newspapers, groups of aunties who have their weekly get-together, students who skip their early lectures in favour of sitting around with their laptops.

Jaemin knows which category they fall into, except none of them brought any uni stuff. He feels Jeno’s hand leave his back and catches his eyes – warm and dark and curving into half-moons when Jeno smiles back at him.

Jaemin watches him go, strolling up to the counter to get their coffee orders. Jeno never forgets his despite all the add-ons and special requests, though he does scold Jaemin for the amount of caffeine in it. Jaemin has already cut back on the espresso shots, just for him.

Jaemin breathes in the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee that hangs in the air and turns, scanning the room for the best place to sit. With the café this empty, the armchairs at the big ceiling-to-floor window are free and Jaemin saunters over, placing his coat on the backrest before sitting down. Outside the sun is trying its hardest to warm the still wet tarmac of the street, illuminates people doing grocery shopping or talking to each other, before finally reaching through the stained glass and painting everything golden.

Jaemin doesn’t particularly like mornings but he does like the morning sun. It’s brighter somehow, purer, washing the remnants of the previous night away.

Jeno is still standing at the counter when Jaemin looks over, waiting for the barista, and it’s like he feels Jaemin’s gaze on him. He turns and his mouth doesn’t move but his eyes are smiling again.

Jaemin smiles back, the thump of his heart pressing against his chest a little harder. Jeno is wearing a simplistic outfit – white hoodie with black embroidery, sweatpants, sneakers – and he looks every bit the sleepy college student he is, but the soft morning light paints him an angel. Jaemin will never get tired of looking at him.

It doesn’t take much longer until Jeno brings their orders to the little table and sits down opposite of Jaemin with a cute small noise.

“Here you go,” he says, placing Jaemin’s cup in front of him.

“Thanks.” Jaemin notices the unusually dark liquid in Jeno’s own cup and raises his eyebrows questioningly. “No latte?”

Jeno shrugs. “I felt like matching you today.”

Jaemin watches Jeno take a sip and pull a face, and laughs quietly. Jeno sticks his tongue out at him before accepting the packet of sugar Jaemin’s holding out for him. He tears the corner carefully and shakes the content into his coffee with nimble hands.

Jaemin has always loved Jeno’s hands. Always loved the long slenderness of his fingers, the web of veins right under his skin, the sharpness of his knuckles that Jaemin likes to press against his mouth. Jaemin knows how gentle those hands can be, what they feel like tracing the curve of his jaw, what they look like gripping the blue sheets of their bed. Jaemin knows it all – the beautiful half-moon whites of his nail beds that remind Jaemin of his smile, the clean cuticles, the soft skin between each of his fingers. He’d know these hands blind, just running his own finger over the line of Jeno’s metacarpal bones.

Jaemin has spent a lot of time studying Jeno’s hands. He’s made a habit out of it; sometimes they say the things Jeno can’t say with his mouth. A squeeze on his thigh meaning _it’s okay_. His fingers twisting around each other, thumb circling his own knuckles – _I’m nervous_. His fingernails scraping over Jaemin’s nape when he pulls him closer, a silent _I want you_.

Jeno, holding out his hand for Jaemin to take, sliding his fingers into the spaces between Jaemin’s and not letting go, never letting go – _I love you_.

One time, one of Jaemin’s friends asked him if it bothered him that Jeno never confesses it back, not the way Jaemin does.

“What do you mean?” Jaemin had answered. “He says it all the time. You just have to listen.”

Jaemin has learnt how to listen over the years. Or maybe he didn’t learn it – maybe he just knew. He’s always known Jeno best after all, and he’s proud of it, this knowledge that belongs to him only.

He used to wonder what it all looked like from the outside: Jaemin phrasing _I love you_ in every beautiful way he knew of, Jeno turning away with the apples of his cheeks dusted red, remaining silent.

Jaemin no longer cares. Jeno’s demonstrations of love are more subdued, but no less honest. No less intense. They’re cushioned in actions – Jeno remembering Jaemin’s insane coffee order, giving Jaemin the space to live out his antics until he’s gotten rid of the unbearable energy that sometimes fizzles through his bones, and always, always reaching out for him. He listens to Jaemin’s requests, puts Jaemin’s towels in the dryer while he showers so they’re warm when he comes out, lets Jaemin smother him with affection even when it’s inconvenient.

If anything, it teaches Jaemin to do the same. He loves words, loves telling Jeno how he feels about him, and he’ll never stop, so Jeno will never have to doubt it. But he knows those words have more traction when they’re followed up with an action.

He still remembers the insecurity in Jeno’s voice when they’d sat on the baked concrete that one maddeningly hot summer years ago, the wheels of Jaemin’s skateboard crunching on the gravel when he pushed it back and forth with his foot.

“I’m scared no one will love me,” Jeno said, looking small so hunched over, eyes cast down to the ground.

Jaemin remembers the trepidation he felt. The offence. And then, suddenly, the quiet, like a blanket of tranquillity because he was sure of what he’d do next.

“Someone already does,” he told him and took Jeno’s hand, mindful of the colourful band-aids that were stuck to the heel of his palm. It was the summer in which Jaemin taught Jeno how to skate and it wasn’t easy.

Jeno looked up then, mouth soft with surprise and hope and all the things Jaemin had wished to see, and that’s how he knew.

“I’m always going to love you, Jen,” Jaemin said with the conviction of a fourteen-year-old who’d fallen in love for the very first time. Had fallen hard – for his best friend, no less – skinned knees and all. But the way Jeno was looking at him then was already an answer, and they kissed each other there, under the violent sun with their hearts beating the same rhythm.

Jaemin’s words were true then, and they are true now. In the time between, they’ve grown up and they’ve figured out every single way in which someone could say ‘I love you’ without saying it out loud.

Just looking at Jeno now feels like another confession. Jaemin lets his eyes trail down the strong line of Jeno’s nose, trace his cupid’s bow, the soft slope of his mouth when Jeno licks the coffee off his lips.

It’s fascinating, really. Jaemin has known Jeno for pretty much his entire life but he’ll never get used to the stutter of his heart or the weakness that still seeps into his knees. His chest is so full of fondness, the kind of affection that usually drives him to snake his hands around Jeno’s waist and pull him closer, the same affection that makes Jaemin kiss every part of Jeno’s face until they’re both breathless with laughter.

The distance between them feels more insufferable with every passing second but this is a public space and Jaemin doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

“What,” Jeno asks without looking up.

“Nothing,” Jaemin breathes.

This time Jeno does look up, eyes crinkling, a full smile on his face that is toned down only by the hint of shyness that still lingers in his features every time Jaemin looks at him like this. The morning sun bounces off his messy black hair and puts a sheen in his eyes that makes it hard to look away. “Do you want to sit over there instead?”

Jaemin’s gaze follows to where Jeno is pointing and spots the small sofa in the corner. The sunlight doesn’t quite reach it, slicing the surface of the coffee table in front of it into half-dark, half-bright, but Jaemin is okay with that sacrifice if it means sitting closer to Jeno.

He nods, so they collect their stuff and move over. The air rushes out of the cushion when Jeno falls down next to Jaemin, his thigh warm through the soft cotton of his sweats. Jaemin immediately melts into Jeno’s side and relaxes against his shoulder. The bitter fragrance of coffee is still overpowering, but sitting like this Jaemin can smell the gentle freshness of their fabric softener and the indescribable scent that’s inherent to Jeno only.

Jaemin turns his head a little and presses a tender kiss to the highest point of Jeno’ cheekbone. This is still the easiest way to say it and a part of him wants to voice it out loud, but Jaemin knows he doesn’t have to. He finds his answer in the open palm that Jeno is offering to him now, pillowed on his thigh.

Jaemin loves this the most: the familiar proximity, the comforting softness of Jeno’s body pressed against his, the simplicity of the moment.

Jeno’s skin is warm and dry when Jaemin slides his hand into his.

 _I love you_.

Jeno closes his fingers and circles his thumb over Jaemin’s, humming along quietly to the song that’s playing on the radio now.

 _Always will_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you so much for reading!! Let me know if you enjoyed this! <3  
> also let me know if you want a part two because domestic nomin are my favourite thing ever  
>  
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ki_jaemjen)
> 
> or ask me things on my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ki_jaemin)
> 
> [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/V7V88RRE)


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